ld you. She did not talk like an
Indian, so I suppose she has been to school. Her mother, from whom she
was running away, was a full-blooded Indian but she don't look a bit
like her." Frieda lowered her voice still further. "Has the Indian woman
been here to inquire for her daughter? Jack was afraid she would find
out who we were and come over here."

Aunt Ellen gave her head a warning shake and said something to Frieda
that the sick girl on the bed could not hear. But Frieda jumped up and
her bits of doll dresses scattered about on the floor. "When will Jack
and Jim come back?" she demanded quickly. "If we had only known before
they went away!"

"Known what?" Olilie asked, as naturally as though she had been taking
part in the conversation all the time. "I am quite well now, thank you.
If you don't mind, I should like to get out of bed."

Frieda's face turned quite red and her blue eyes were round with
surprise. She ran to Olilie and threw her arms around her. "You are well
now, aren't you?" she exclaimed. "I'm so glad. Just wait until I run and
find Jean. She won't like it unless I tell her at once."

"Child," Aunt Ellen queried, as soon as Frieda went away, "is the
Arapaho woman who makes baskets and strings beads at the end of the Wind
Creek valley your mother and is the lad Josef her son?"

Olilie nodded. "I think so," she replied. "At least I know of no other
woman who is my mother. I have lived with her always."

"But you are not a full-blooded Indian girl," Aunt Ellen argued,
"although your hair is so black and straight and your skin is dark.
Look," Aunt Ellen picked up the girl's hand again. "See, your finger
nails are pink and that is not the case with the red or brown-skinned
people." Aunt Ellen opened the girl's gown, and where her skin was
untouched by the sun and wind, it was a beautiful olive color.

Aunt Ellen lifted her up, wrapped her in a blue dressing gown and sat
her in Frieda's vacant chair. "It's a hard time ahead of you, child,"
she murmured to herself. "Mixed blood don't never bring happiness, when
one of 'em runs dark."

Jean's and Frieda's faces both wore strange expressions when they came
back to their guest. But Olilie did not know them well enough to guess
that anything unusual was the matter.

She stretched out both hands humbly and took one of Jean's and one of
Frieda's in her own. "Won't you let me thank you for keeping me here and
let me tell you why I ran away?" she asked gra